BY THALIA OSTENDORF
This is how it happened.
The siren came onto land on the cold shores of the North Sea by way of the Middle Passage. The currents of history had carried her away from the Mediterranean islands she called home, away from its rocky shores, from her sisters, her rivals. She had no way of being alone, constantly referred to herself as ‘we.’ That was when she started speaking again. When she was found, dazed, cold, on that far away beach, they carried her to their city. They say she was heavy, made from pure gold. The testing marks of their nails and teeth dented her form, are there still—around her wrists, her hips… but this is hearsay.
Keeping a lover was a foreign concept to us. They do not keep well, drown when taken places. Are they supposed to be fed? If we eat them, what sustains them in turn? Any and all interactions with mortals in our life until then carried their immediate end in that first meeting. Death, indifference; a sated hunger. It is our nature. We a flame, they a variety of moths. Drab, dust more than anything else. We did not realize, then, that we were another's retribution.
Accounts of her appearance are conflicting. They tell us she has golden curls, sometimes they are dark, the color of storms, or braids that remind one of a net, ready for ensnaring. Easily mistaken for scales, the finest chains of emeralds clothe her. When she was found, dazed, cold, on that northern beach, they say they found several men trapped in these nets—there was even a woman in a boy’s clothes. But this is hearsay.
When we did wash ashore, our start on land was rocky. One of the mortals cut us deeply. We simply had not realized they could. We knew ourselves above them. They are made of different stuff; the saltwater bites at their skin, nature does not help but harm them, heaven knows if they think at all. It was their destruction, a vision of imminent demise, that spurred them on. We saw no motive to their actions. They always went under.
When she was found, dazed, cold, beyond speech, they thought her harmless. They were wrong, but it was too late now. Not only were they surprised, they were offended. All we got for sparing their life was the endless insult of being made insignificant. They would suddenly speak of measures against mermaids (as if that was even remotely the same thing), of a fate to be challenged. Out of water we were no longer a force, or a feeling, the pull of the tides themselves. No, they made us an afterthought, an episode. The gall. Better men had flung their bodies in the oceans of the world for less. They were the smart ones.
Bringing death, we are the end; a sight and sound to pay for with one's life. Mortals never did choose it, they didn’t have to—they could not help it. They just heard… and ran for us. Hurtled. Built ships to get closer to our vague form on an opposite coast. That part still worked, sporadically. On land, while trying to live our life and explore our talents beyond man-eating, they would be drawn in. We let them, they seemed inoffensive. Involvement with us, however, would inevitably have a meat-grinding effect. We didn't understand. We are what we are, obviously so, how could they be surprised at the carnage?
When she was found, dazed, cold, on that far away beach, they carried her to their city. They say she screamed in protest, but this is hearsay too. In her right mind, she would have had no scruples about chewing on their bones, and they knew it. They were avoiding inevitable death. The fates had granted them a moment of full control over the siren’s story. They must have jumped at the opportunity to change the end.
Thalia Ostendorf is a Dutch-Surinamese writer, editor and co-founder of Dutch feminist publishing house 'Chaos Press'. She is a PhD candidate in Social Anthropology and Modern Languages at the University of St Andrews in Scotland (i.e. Hogwarts by the Sea). Her short stories have been published in places like Cipher Magazine, Gone Lawn and Token Magazine.